Progress

Well I have been working on the list, and walking everyday so both are good things. Here is my progress:

Buy new mattress and get rid of old one
Get piano tuned
Get rid of old piano
Get rid of dish set - done
Find missing piece of wood so I can get piano stool repaired (I have been looking for this piece for a year)
Repair or throw out old chair from my mother's house
Get rid of old rattan chair on back porch
Sort out son's clothes in basement room - done
Finish my brother's sweater - done
Finish my sweater - done
Finish that stupid sock I started last spring (I might just frog this and let it go)- done (frogged)
Find turkey platter to match dish set I just bought
Recover kitchen chairs
Get rid of my aunt's, grandmother's and mother-in-law's furs - done

And, on top of that I organized all my mentoring papers which were definitely getting out of hand.

So, progress, although I still am feeling kind of manic. I often feel like this right before a migraine attack. But then I realized. Maybe this is what happy feels like?

Getting hit by the truck

It was so weird. For about a week I kept feeling like I should be extra careful while in a car because I kept seeing myself being t-boned in an intersection.

I was hit by a truck on Sunday. Proverbially, but a truck none-the-less.

So here I sit, uncomfortably, after having emergency surgery on Monday afternoon for an infected gall bladder. I went to the doctor today because one of the incisions is still bleeding, and I was fretting.

I feel like I should feel better. He tells me to be gentler with myself. "Not only surgery, but you have had an infection inside of you for some time as well."

Be gentle with myself.

That would be easier if I felt better.

The doctors, and nurses were so great. So great. We are lucky to live in a place with this kind of medical care.

So, here I sit (did I mention the discomfort). I know I have much to be thankful for. But geez, this has been a sucky year on the health front. I now wonder how much of my unwellness this summer was related to this little organ that no longer resides inside of me.

So, pay attention to those intuitions. You never know what shape that truck may take.

Is this what Manic feels like?

As a person who suffers from depression I have often thought about people who are manic-depressives and wondered what that would be like. Lately I think I have been experiencing small hints of mania, and I don't like it. Oh yes, I am getting things done, making lists, throwing stuff out, talking too much and too loudly (I think), and I feel like I am teetering on the edge of a very high, very narrow, fence.

So here is my list.
Maybe if I write it down I can let it go and calm down.

Buy new mattress and get rid of old one
Get piano tuned
Get rid of old piano
Get rid of dish set
Find missing piece of wood so I can get piano stool repaired (I have been looking for this piece for a year)
Repair or throw out old chair from my mother's house
Get rid of old rattan chair on back porch
Sort out son's clothes in basement room
Finish my brother's sweater
Finish my sweater
Finish that stupid sock I started last spring (I might just frog this and let it go)
Find turkey platter to match dish set I just bought
Recover kitchen chairs
Get rid of my aunt's, grandmother's and mother-in-law's furs

That is just the list I made yesterday.

I feel like I am running out of time. That I have to do these things right now, like there is no tomorrow. It is weird because usually I can procrastinate like there is always tomorrow.

But not lately.

So.
If this is what people feel like when they are manic I can empathize.
But, I am looking for balance.

So.
I am going for a walk.

I am going for a walk.
Because I need to be among the trees that have stood for hundreds of years living one day at a time.

Day of the Dead

I went to my first Death Cafe last night. It was auspicious that it was the first day of November, a day traditionally known as All Soul's Day, a day to remember those who have died because the veil between the dead and the living is said to be its thinnest. In the past I have celebrated this day with a classroom full of students, bringing pictures of dear departed ones, lighting candles and saying a few words of remembrance.
Last night was the first time I have done this with adults. It was lovely, and poignant, and true. Although I went there to honour my father and my aunt, the person that kept coming to me was my mother.

I rarely dream about any of those close to me who have died. I perhaps have dreamt about my mother once, maybe twice. My father, once, maybe twice. My aunt not at all. I wish it was different.

But it came to me yesterday that I have to let it go. I have to let go of the disappointment I have in my mother and her style of mothering. I have to let it go. It isn't about forgiveness. I am not there yet. It isn't about forgetting, because I am clearly not there yet. But as I write this it is just about letting go.

My mother and I had some lovely times together. A trip to Hawaii when I graduated from university. Many, many morning coffees in the backyard chatting about this and that. Some crazy nightclubs where we were more friends than mother and daughter.

She could be lovely and kind to those in need: next door neighbours, shopkeepers, restaurant owners. She was lovely with my children. She volunteered for March of Dimes, and at the Jericho School for the blind. She was an ear when her friends needed to talk.

My friends loved her. Her and her home-made soups and homemade bread. She could be outrageous and had a naughty sense of humour. She had beautiful eyes. And hair.

My father loved her. That in itself should be enough for me.

I chose her to be my mother for a myriad of reasons that I will not remember until I once again cross the threshold from this life to the next.

She came here to do what she was meant to do. It is not my place to understand it all. It is not my place to forgive it, or forget it. It is my place to learn from the struggles I had and continue to have, with my relationship to her. Even though she has been dead for nine years I still struggle and still wish that it had been different.

But, as the saying goes, "If wishes were horses, then beggars would ride".

I will try to stop wishing, and try to stop worrying about not being able to forgive and forget, and just let it go.

And remember the good times. Remember her in light and understanding. And promise to learn from the lessons my relationship with her is continuing to teach me about being human.